Let the Dead Lie
by nicevenn
Summary: When Draco develops a mental illness, Scorpius gives up everything to take care of him and show him how it feels to be alive. DARK THEMES. INCEST. CHARACTER DEATH.


"Look—it's not black. It's red, like it's supposed to be."

Scorpius held up the pricked finger for his father to see. Draco's golden brows drew together as he watched the growing spot of blood on his own fingertip. He pulled his hand out of his son's grasp.

"You're using magic to make it appear that way," Draco said. "But I know the truth."

Scorpius held back a sigh and resisted the temptation to drop his head in his hands. Displays of hopelessness and frustration would not help his father.

"Father, why would your blood have turned black? Think about what you're saying. It doesn't make any sense."

"Because I'm dead. I told you before: he poisoned me."

There was not the faintest hint of a smile on Draco's lips. His eyes betrayed anger, confusion, sadness, and even a hint of fear, but they were devoid of humour. As Scorpius should have expected, his father was convinced of the nonsense that had just left his lips. The harsh reality of it trickled like ice water down Scorpius's back.

"But blood doesn't really turn black after death." Scorpius hoped that pointing out the errors in his father's logic would help the man see the truth, even if all such previous attempts had failed. He had to keep trying.

"Obviously it does."

Scorpius was silent for a moment as he took in his father's appearance. Draco's hair was a matted, tangled mess, and his eyes looked sunken above dark half circles. These sleepless nights were taking their toll on him.

"If you were dead and hadn't moved on, wouldn't you be a ghost? I've never heard of walking corpses—"

Scorpius winced at his own words. An Inferius would fit that description, and if Draco happened to make that connection, he might incorporate it into his delusion. Even though Draco's mind wasn't as sharp as it had once been, Scorpius couldn't afford to make such slips.

"I-I don't know why I haven't left my body behind," Draco said. "Perhaps it's an effect of the poison."

"But who would have poisoned you, Father?" Scorpius asked, his voice rising despite his best efforts to remain calm. "It's just the two of us here, and you haven't left the Manor in ages. Certainly you don't think the house-elf..."

Draco punched the armrest of the couch. "Damn it, Scorpius! You never listen to me. I told you about him so many times. I told you he wanted to kill me and asked you to keep him out."

"The one who looks like me?"

"Yes!"

This time, Scorpius did sigh. There was no such intruder at the Manor. Draco had woken up one morning convinced that Scorpius had been replaced by an impostor. That was how this had all started. Since then, Draco had been going back and forth between recognising Scorpius and believing him to be an impostor. The potions provided by the healers at St. Mungo's had stabilised Draco's condition somewhat, but he continued to have these occasional episodes. Scorpius had never expected that the illness would take such a sudden turn for the worse.

Scorpius covered the hand that lay on his father's thigh with his own. "He doesn't exist," he said. "It's just you and me. And I would never hurt you."

Draco's eyes were blank as he stared into space. Scorpius knew that any further attempts to reason with him or comfort him would be in vain. He squeezed his father's hand as he blinked back tears.

Scorpius stared at the Auror badge he had just placed on Harry Potter's desk as if surprised it hadn't been glued to his hand. He had worked so hard for it, pushed himself to his limits even when all he'd wanted to do was admit his failure and slink back home with slumped shoulders. To become an Auror had been his childhood dream. But some things were more important than dreams.

Scorpius had to stay home so to take care of his father. The healers had told him Draco needed to be watched over constantlyرit was not unheard of for people with his condition to attempt suicide or take ridiculous risks, thinking they were invincible. They had strongly suggested committing him to the Long-Term ward, but Scorpius refused to have his father locked up at St. Mungo's like some lunatic. Draco wouldn't want that.

Harry was watching Scorpius with narrowed eyes. The round spectacles didn't diminish the piercing effect of that emerald stare. Scorpius could swear that it had penetrated his soul and was now digging for that shameful secret.

"Why, Scorpius?" The Head Auror asked. "You wanted this so badly."

Scorpius swallowed over a choking lump in his throat. "I guess the excitement has worn off now that the challenge is over."

Harry was silent for a moment as he paced his office slowly. "I find that hard to believe."

"How so?" Scorpius asked.

Harry stopped in front of a bookshelf and looked at Scorpius again. "I've met few people as dedicated to this career as you have been. It's so unlike you to just decide one morning that you don't want it anymore; it doesn't make sense."

Scorpius shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant, though he found it difficult to meet Harry's gaze.

"Is something wrong, Scorpius?" Harry asked. "You can tell me anything. On my honour, it will not leave this office."

Scorpius shook his head. He felt like a child about to break down in tears.

"I might be able to help," Harry said, brows raised above the rims of his glasses.

If only you could, Scorpius thought. But if the healers at St. Mungo's couldn't help his father, how could the Head Auror?

"I appreciate your kindness, sir," Scorpius said with a sneer that he hoped would mask his vulnerability, "but I assure you that nothing is the matter. I simply no longer desire to be an Auror."

Casting one last, lingering glance at the badge on the desk, he turned on his heel and left Harry's office.

"You quit?"

Scorpius nodded. If he were to speak, the finality of his decision would cause his voice to crack. He stared at his plate; Mediterranean cuisine was suddenly unappetising.

"Why?" Draco asked.

Scorpius fought his feelings of regret, willing them deep into the pit of his stomach. He felt guilty for sulking. No job should be more important than his father.

"So I can take care of you."

Draco laughed. "Don't be silly, Scorpius. I can take care of myself."

They both knew it was a lie.

"Father, what are you doing?" Scorpius asked, panting and shielding his eyes from the pink light of the rising sun. He had searched the entire manor and most of the grounds before finding his father in the family's private cemetery.

"What does it look like I'm doing?"

They both watched as the shovel dropped more dirt onto a pile near Lucius Malfoy's headstone.

"It looks like you're digging yourself a grave."

Draco nodded.

"Come on," Scorpius said, taking his father's arm, "let's go inside."

"No!" Draco pulled his arm out of his son's grip. "My body is decomposing. I belong in the ground!"

Scorpius reached for his father again, persisting even when Draco shook him off and smacked his hands away. Finally Draco submitted and allowed Scorpius to hold his pointed face between his palms.

"Father, listen to me. You are alive, healthy and youthful, not rotting. What can I do to make you realise that?" Draco's eyes were cast downward, empty and sad. "Look at me," Scorpius said, rubbing his thumb lightly over the ivory skin of his father's cheek, near the corner of his mouth. "There is so much life in you. I wish you could feel it."

Scorpius closed his eyes as he pressed the wet facecloth to the nape of his father's neck. He almost wished Draco would start his usual talk about death and decayرit would help his erection go away. But Draco usually kept quiet during these bathing sessions. As difficult as it was to convince him to get into the water, Scorpius knew that his father enjoyed the relaxing heat.

Scorpius's cock stiffened as a soft sigh escaped Draco's lips. The treacherous appendage was just barely brushing the small of Draco's back, making Scorpius's cheeks burn. With his father between his legs and the wall of the tub behind him, he had no room edge away. Giving a sigh of his own, he plunged the cloth back into the water and brought it up to Draco's chest.

I'm doing this out of necessity, Scorpius repeated to himself. He won't bathe alone because he thinks he's dead, and dead people don't need to groom themselves.

Scorpius dragged the cloth down his father's abdomen, and his eyes shot open when something slippery and hard poked the edge of his hand. He froze for a moment, the tension between them thicker that the steam rising from the tub, but then resumed his ministrations, taking care to avoid Draco's erection. His own cock had twitched in response to his discovery.

He wondered what thoughts were running through Draco's mind. Was his father appalled by their bodies' reactions to each other? Did he want things to go further between them? Or was he too preoccupied with his dark, twisted thoughts to even care? Surely he must realise that dead people aren't affected in such ways.

Scorpius knew it was wishful thinking. If Draco was able to convince himself that dead people did indeed need drink, food, and sleep, and that they were able to feel pain, he would also come to the conclusion that they were capable of experiencing pleasure. But how would he explain another's desire for him?

As if to hide his embarrassment about what he was going to do, Scorpius lowered his face and pressed his forehead against his father's wet shoulder. His cheeks burned as he dropped the facecloth into the water and glided his fingers over Draco's balls and up the ridge of his cock.

He heard a sharp intake of breath, followed by a hissed, "Scorpius—"

Draco tensed in Scorpius's arms, but he didn't try to push his hand away. Scorpius pressed his parted lips against the damp skin of his father's back as he wrapped his fingers around his father's cock. He brought up his other hand to pinch Draco's nipple. Draco arched into the touch and let his head fall back against his son's shoulder.

"You're gorgeous," Scorpius whispered, sure that his father wouldn't believe him, but hoping nonetheless that he would. Their position didn't allow him to cover Draco's mouth with his own, so he settled for kissing and licking the corner of it while his hand began to move faster up and down Draco's cock.

I'm just as disturbed as he is, Scorpius kept thinking as he rubbed his erection against his father's back while wanking him, but he told himself that he was trying to help. Wasn't it possible that one sickness could somehow drive out the other?

Scorpius thrust into Draco one last time, burying himself to his balls and biting down on Draco's shoulder as he shuddered and tensed. His father had climaxed moments before; his come felt cool and sticky on Scorpius's belly.

"I love you," Scorpius said after he had rolled off of Draco. He kissed the bite mark he had left on the older Malfoy's shoulder, soothing the delicate skin, and smiled when Draco took his hand and squeezed it.

They lay in silence for the next few minutes. Scorpius had snuggled up to his father and was listening to his slow, deep breathing. It was just starting to lull him to sleep when Draco's voice, barely above a whisper, pulled him out of his drowsy state.

"Scorpius, you need help."

Scorpius lifted his head to look at his father, whose grey eyes were focused on the ceiling.

"It isn't natural to desire corpses. It can't be healthy."

The words were like a blow to the gut, knocking the wind out of Scorpius. He had thought Draco was getting better. Since they'd first had sex three weeks earlier, Draco had only twice displayed symptoms of believing he was dead, and he had continually recognised Scorpius as his son.

"Father, I don't—you're very much alive. Don't you feel it? At least when we're together?"

Draco turned his head away.

"Father, look at me." Scorpius shook Draco's shoulder until the latter turned to face his son.

Draco frowned, the fine lines around his mouth accentuated by weariness and guilt. He looked much older than he had only an hour before. "It—it doesn't matter what I feel."

"It does." When Draco shook his head, Scorpius added, "Just tell me what you feel."

Draco dropped his gaze to the sheets. Scorpius sighed, thinking the conversation was over, and turned onto his back.

"I love how you make me feel," Draco said softly, startling him. "It helps draw my attention away from the worms and maggots crawling over my limbs. You make me feel wanted, and yes, alive. But I can't take advantage of you anymore." He shook his head. "It isn't fair."

"So it does help?" Scorpius raised his brows hopefully.

"That's not the point, Scorpius!"

Draco sat up and Scorpius followed suit. "It's precisely the point!"

Scorpius watched as his father stood up from the bed and reached for his pants.

"I can't allow you to risk your health and well-being for me," Draco said. "Let the dead lie, Scorpius. Find yourself someone who is as young and beautiful as you are."

Draco pulled his trousers up roughly and fumbled with the zip in his haste. He then picked up his shirt, unwilling to stay long enough to put it on, and marched out of the room.

Scorpius let out a sigh and flung back the covers. The sinking feeling in his stomach didn't matter, nor did the stinging in his eyes. He couldn't afford leave Draco to his own devices. It wasn't safe.

"What are you doing?" Scorpius asked, looking over his father's shoulder.

"Clearly, I'm making breakfast."

Scorpius chuckled. His father's bored drawl was fitting for an activity as common and mundane as cooking.

"Why not let the house-elves do it?"

Draco shrugged. "Even dead people need to amuse themselves somehow."

Scorpius frowned but kept silent. It would be wasted energy to contradict his father yet again and tell him that he wasn't dead. The best he could hope for was that the new potion the healers at St. Mungo's were developing would work better than the ones Draco was currently taking.

"Go have a seat in the morning room," Draco said. "Let me take care of you, for once. I am your father, after all."

It was a genuine, if wistful, smile that formed on Scorpius's lips before he turned to leave. The smell of eggs and sausage had set his stomach rumbling. He entered the morning room and sat at the glass table.

Sunlight filtered in through the tall French windows and bounced off the white walls. It was too bright for Scorpius's sleepy eyes. He hadn't been sleeping well lately, keeping constant vigil over his father. Today, he had overslept and found the space beside him on the bed empty. Thankfully, no harm had come of his carelessness.

Scorpius was thinking of ways he could ensure that he always woke when his father did, spells that would alert him, perhaps, when Draco walked in carrying a tray of food.

"There you are," Draco said, setting down a plate of scrambled eggs and sausages, a smaller plate with toast, and a cup of tea.

"Thank you, Father," Scorpius said.

He added a teaspoon of sugar and poured some milk into his tea and stirred. Breakfast smelled delicious, but he was usually very thirsty in the morning and needed to drink something first. His father pulled out the chair beside him and sat down.

"Did you sleep well?" Draco asked. His cool grey eyes settled on Scorpius's mouth as he brought the porcelain cup to his lips.

Scorpius nodded as he took a few large sips of his tea. "I did," he said as he put down the cup. "Not nearly long enough, though."

"You should start going to bed earlier," Draco said as he spread marmalade onto his toast.

Only if you do, Scorpius wanted to say, but as he opened his mouth to speak, he felt it begin to tingle. He lowered his fork and ran his tongue along the roof of his mouth, hoping to relieve the sensation.

Draco glanced up at him. "Are you all right?"

"I-I don't know," Scorpius said, dropping the fork and touching his lips. They felt numb. His mouth seemed to have turned to cotton and was beginning to burn, as was his stomach. He pushed away the eggs with his other hand, the sight and smell of them making him nauseous.

What was happening? Was he ill? He'd never felt like this before.

He was breaking out in cold sweat, but his insides felt as if they were on fire. His feet and hands were tingling. Looking across at his father, he saw a blurred image of him taking a bite of his toast.

Why isn't he helping me? Terror and something toxic shot like acid through his veins. The tea must have been poisoned. Scorpius pushed back his chair, fell to his knees as he tried to get up, and vomited all over his father's shoes.

"Now that's disgusting," Draco said. He jerked back his chair and cast a cleaning spell on his shoes, ignoring Scorpius's outreached hand.

"Do you like the potion?" Draco asked. "I brewed it especially for you while Scorpius was sleeping. There are quicker, painless alternatives, of course, but I thought this was fitting."

Scorpius gasped for breath. He had fallen to the floor, no longer able to feel or move his limbs. His lungs burned.

"You deserve worse than this, you sick bastard. You came into my home, impersonated my son, murdered me, and then used dark magic to reanimate my corpse so you could twist Scorpius and make him do vile things to it!"

Scorpius was foaming at the mouth; his vision was turning black. He could hear the distant echo of his father's voice, but he no longer understood the words. Only one coherent thought penetrated the spinning fog of his escaping consciousness: I can't leave him alone.

The End


End file.
